


Avengers - A Star Wars Story

by ArvisTaljik



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Avengers in Star Wars, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Dehumanization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engineer/Pilot!Tony, F/M, ISB Agent/Rebel Spy!Natasha, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Inquisitor!Bucky, It was in the past and only for like a minute..., Jedi!Steve, M/M, Natasha Romanov is the Best Bro, Pilot!Clint, Pilot!Rhodey, Pilot!Sam, Recovery, Steve is an Ex-Jedi, Steve's Droid insults everyone except Steve, Steve's Droid is a Little Shit, Tony Stark is Tony Stark, false identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvisTaljik/pseuds/ArvisTaljik
Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...Steve Rogers, ex-Jedi and member of the Rebel Alliance, has resigned himself to living a life in the shadows.  Fighting with the Rebels gives him a purpose, a cause, but that's not really what he's looking for. What he's been looking for, or who, was presumed dead during Order 66 nearly 19 years ago.- - - - -Being an Inquisitor has perks, but it also comes with a lot of supervision and suspicion, especially for a former Jedi youngling. When an opportunity arises to use an ISB Agent turned Rebel Spy as a means of getting a message out, there might just be a chance to find out if someone important from the past has made their way to the present.- - - - -Now with art at the end of Chapter 2 (it's just a spaceship :P)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this silly little idea spawned out of my mind-blown brain after seeing Rogue One for the first and second times in as many days. I'm posting it here to gauge reception and see if anyone is actually interested in the idea and whether or not it should continue. Also, if it helps to think of this work as "Stucky - A Star Wars Story" then please feel free to do so. :P
> 
> The timeline of the story run concurrent with and slightly before Rogue One. Some events will very clearly overlap towards the end but these heroes have no interactions with the ones from the movie. Just to keep things separate. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And without further ado, here goes nothing...

 This story takes place a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.  It’s already complete and nothing can be done to alter it.

    It’s a story of hardship and loss, of reconnecting with old friends, courage and sacrifice, facing the darkness within oneself and learning to live in the light of hope again.

    This is their story, and we’re just here to watch it as it happened.

    There’s a strange thing about stories though.  Despite the fact that this all happened a long time ago and far from here, it’s still happening now.  It’s happening as we read these words and as we experience their story along with them.  Right here.  Right now.

    This tale is the story of an end.  And end to a search, an end to stumbling in the darkness, an end to suffering.  But, it’s also a beginning.  It’s their beginning…

 

* * * * *

 

    The Inquisitor, 'Third Brother' by name and title, strode determinedly down the center-line passage of the aging bulk cruiser.  This ship had clearly seen better days; perhaps about forty years ago when it had been built, and the grime caked into the seams of the bulkheads did nothing to help the image of the aged vessel.

    He often considered it below the level of an Inquisitor to be handling tasks such as searching for Rebel sympathizers on freighters milling about the Mid Rim, but here he is anyway.  It had taken him years, nineteen of them to be precise, to be able to earn himself into a position that gave him enough leeway to operate independently, with his own ship, and outside the ever-critical gaze of his fellow Inquisitors.  Nineteen years of lying, fighting, and _faking_ his way through the ranks of the Inquisitors.  Ever since he was a child in the Temple on Coruscant he'd wanted nothing more than to be a Jedi Knight, but then the Empire happened.  Chancellor Palpatine had used Order 66 to simultaneously end the Clone Wars and wipe out the Jedi in one fell swoop.  Truthfully, he was lucky to survive and be forced into training to be an Inquisitor rather than being killed outright by the traitor-turned-Sith, Anakin Skywalker.  Correction, Darth Vader.

    His attention was pulled back to the present, and the dingy innards of the aging freighter, by his Stormtrooper Captain approaching.

    _"Sir, the ship's manifest checks out and there's no contraband aboard.  What would you like us to do with the crew?"_

    It's a stupid question, really, and worthy of the eye roll he supremely wants to, but won't, give the man behind the white helmet.  Even when they don't find anything on suspect ships the procedures always remain the same:  imprison the crew, catalog the cargo, and seize anything useful before destroying the ship.  Stormtroopers must _actually_ grow on trees because a Rishi apple would probably give this guy a run for his money in the brains department.

    "Place the crew in holding for transfer to the ISB and let our Agent know she'll have prisoners.  We'll take anything useful from the cargo hold and destroy the ship before we leave."  If he has to say this same line again, it will be too soon and he might just have to find a new Captain for the cadre of troopers assigned to him.

    _"Yes, sir."_ The Captain quickly turns on his heel before heading back the way he came.

    Alone once again, the Inquisitor reaches up and unclasps the clamp on his helmet before pulling it off his head.  If he's completely honest, the helmets they use are more intimidating than practical and he'd rather not use the thing at all.  But, the Empire has an image to maintain and he's as much a slave to that image as the white-clad troopers under his direction.  When it comes down to it, everyone is a slave to the Empire.

    Free from the confines of his bucket, he lets his ear-length brown hair fall loosely down before running the fingers of his prosthetic hand through them to clear any knots.  Lowering his arm back down to his side, he regards the metal fingers of the artificial limb:  just another gift from the Empire and something else to keep him enslaved.

    But there's a small piece of him that wants to break the Empire's shackles from his hands, and that same part of him might just be willing to do anything it takes to make that happen.

    The first step:  confirm his suspicions about his most recent babysitter.  If that's successful then it's on to step two:  find _him_.

 

* * * * *

 

    Agent Alina Korpenoff stood on the bridge of the Arquitens-class cruiser _Soldat_ , observing as the ship's shuttle returned from the aging bulk cruiser sitting off the ship's bow.  She watched silently as the shuttle disappeared underneath the _Soldat_ 's forked nose and contemplated her own presence here.

    Alina Korpenoff:  favored daughter of the Imperial Security Bureau, top agent with high marks in _everything_ , and... something _else_ entirely.  But for now, she's stuck babysitting the Empire's most efficient, and enigmatic, Inquisitor.

    Babysitting is perhaps the wrong word to use, but only because this assignment happened to be giving her an opportunity to observe the Inquisitor in question.  And the one thing she'd manage to learn about him is that he's _different_ .  Different in that he never wastes lives when he can avoid it.  Different in that he never gloats about his victories and never takes any pleasure in achieving them.  Different in that he's always cool, collected and _entirely_ unreadable.

    Frankly, this particular Inquisitor would be frustrating to study from an intel perspective but her study wasn't for intel, it was personal.  Not personal for herself, but personal for one of her best friends, even if that friend hadn't _actually_ asked for anything and definitely didn't know that she was doing this for him.

    Upon feeling the deck shudder slightly with the shuttle's docking, she turns and quickly steps down from the command deck to the main lift.  It's only a couple decks down to the main level and she'd already received the message that there were prisoners for her to take over but it was the Inquisitor she was more interested in seeing.  With each completed mission, there was a tiny bit more information about the man that she could gather such as his reactions, how he responded to the prisoners that inevitably came from each engagement, and how he delivers his instructions to his troopers.  It had taken the entire six months of the assignment to learn what little she already had but anything she could pass on, assuming she could confirm her suspicions about the man, would be helpful.

    When the lift doors parted she was almost surprised by the figure standing on the other side.   _Almost_ , because she makes it a habit to never be surprised by anything.  It only takes her a split second to school her features into complete neutrality but the sight before her nearly got the best of her.

    There was no rule within the Inquisitors that they needed to keep their helmets on at all times, but this particular one always had.  His face had never been seen by herself, his troops, or the ship's crew but for some reason, he now stood outside the lift doors with his helmet off and carried under an arm.

    "Agent."  The man addresses her with a completely flat tone, voice slightly rough but with no indications of hesitation or apprehension.  'Cold' is probably the best word to describe his manner of address, she thinks.

    "Inquisitor."  Her reply is equally as neutral but with a slight inclination of the head.  Inquisitors are, after all, ranked above ISB agents in the grand Imperial food chain.

    "I require a moment of your time."  He steps into the lift beside her and keys the control panel for the bottom deck of the ship.  Then, once the lift has begun moving, he keys the override and stops it between decks.  "Korpenoff.  It's not your real name."

    It's not widely known but anyone who has any memory of the Republic knows that Inquisitors are trained Force-sensitives and more than a few were pulled, or seduced, from the ranks of the now-defunct Jedi Order.  Still, she's been trained to resist mental probing and mind tricks so there's no way he should know that unless he's hacked the ISB.  Either that or he's aware of the ISB's standard procedures of giving their agents short-term fake identities for covert missions.

    "The ISB routinely assigns agents fake names to protect the secrecy of their missions."  It's just a statement of fact without a confirmation or a denial.   _I can play the neutral game and fish for information too._

    "None of your names are your real name."  He replies without changing where he's looking, maintaining a thousand-yard stare through the door of the lift.  "I have a message for you to pass on."

    "I'm not a courier, Inquisitor.  We have droids for that."  She can't afford to make any slip-ups, no matter who this man may or may not be.  Better to keep up appearances, for now.

    "It's why you're here."  It's said as a statement, not as a question.  There's absolutely no hesitation when he says it and it makes her nervous about what he could possibly know, though she does nothing to let it show.

    After a few moments of silence, the Inquisitor continues.  "You know who to pass the message to."

    It's then that she realizes the man is holding something in his hand for her to take.  Somehow he's managed to move his hand without her even noticing.  So much for being able to keep tabs on an Inquisitor.

   The Inquisitor doesn't even so much as acknowledge her when she takes the two small items from his hand, instead simply returning his hand back to his side once it's empty.  Then, without any further conversation, he keys the lift to resume its descent.

    Seconds later, the lift reaches its destination and the doors part to reveal the lower most, and darkest, deck on the ship.  The Inquisitor takes a single step out of the lift but remains close enough to the door to prevent it from closing again.

    "Agent, how many times have you and I spoken to each other directly?"  He speaks to the empty space in front of him without bothering to turn and address her face-to-face.

    "We haven't."  It's true.  Aside from being in the same room for holo-comms from Fleet Command or reading one another's after-action reports from missions, she and he have never had a conversation with the other.

    "No, we haven't."

    It's a very simple statement that carries a single meaning:  we never had this conversation.

    If Alina Korpenoff had any doubts in her mind as to who this Inquisitor may be, she certainly doesn't have any now.

    Opening her hand, she takes stock of the two small objects now in her possession.  The first is a small D-ring and mount, about three centimeters wide, that appears to be some kind of belt hook for a blaster or other weapon.  The second is a small piece of flimsiplast with a single line of text written on it in neat handwriting.

    That's it; her mission here is complete.  Now she has prisoners to transfer, or not, and the one message she never thought she'd ever be returning to her friend:   _he’s alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now your first taste of Steve and Clint, Rebel hot-shots and general do-gooders of the galaxy. :P

     Steve had been sitting cross-legged on the deck of his and Clint’s transport for the duration of their current flight.  Lately, it had become increasingly difficult for him to meditate for any extended period of time minus their system hopping trips through hyperspace.  Somehow, traveling at superluminal speeds through the physics-breaking dimension allowed his mind to clear itself and grant him the reprieve he could rarely find on any of the many worlds he had visited.

     Slowly releasing a deep breath, he concentrated on the hum of the engines behind him while picturing the bright blue and white streaks of hyperspace tunneling by at inconceivable speeds.  It was here that he found his center, his peace, and even though it was only for a few hours, he would be thankful for what time he could get.  Jedi who didn’t meditate often enough could find their connection to the Force becoming strained over time, unable to reorient themselves between the material and immaterial.  Steve didn’t typically have this problem, but getting in the occasional meditation session seemed to help him out overall anyway, so who was he to argue?

     He was eventually pulled out of the quiet of his own mind by the chirp of the ship’s hyperdrive controls announcing their imminent arrival at their destination.  A moment later, that sound was followed by Clint’s voice carrying from the cockpit.

     “Heya, Cap. We’re almost there.”

     He and Clint had been assigned together nearly four years ago and had stayed together as a team ever since. Though they both held the same rank within the Rebel Alliance, Clint always deferred to him on account of his ‘finely-tuned Jedi hoo-doo and superior cosmic mojo.’  While he had no idea what exactly that was supposed to mean, he took it as a compliment given the fact that Clint always said it in a friendly tone.

     Extricating himself from his sitting position on the deck, he steps into the cockpit proper.  Despite age-old Jedi teachings against attachment, Steve had found he’d become rather fond of both Clint, namely for his unyielding friendship and endless litany of snarky comebacks and inappropriate jokes, as well as the ship that had managed to carry them across millions of parsecs over the past years.

     Behind Clint’s seat is Steve’s red and gold R4 unit, R4-K3, who is plugged into the ship’s communications system and happily ‘chatting’ away with the ship’s computer.  Upon seeing Steve’s approach, K3 disengages from the computer port before turning to him and letting loose a string of warbled beeps and whistles.

     “[Clint + Piloting Skills = Questionable / Likelihood of Crash > 36%]”

     “I heard that, chrome dome! I _do_ actually understand droid,” Clint snaps from the pilot’s seat.

     “You know, Clint, if you were nicer to him I’m sure he’d be nice to you in return.”  Steve says as he climbs up into the navigator/gunner seat next to Clint.

     “Tell _him_ that.  He’s the one always starting things!”

     “[R4-K3 = Accurate Observer / Clint = Stupid]”

     “Yeah, well _you’re_ stupid!”

     Steve can’t help but just smile and shake his head.  If there’s one thing in his slightly messed-up life he can be thankful for, it’s for friends like Clint and K3 who always manage to remind him exactly how much like overgrown children they actually are.

     “We’re coming up on our drop point in ten.” Clint states matter-of-factly.  “Remind me again why we’re here?”

     “Another courier pick-up.”  Steve answers while placing his headset into his left ear.  “It’s _kind of_ what we do.”

     “Two Alliance Captains assigned to messenger duty.  How _far_ up the ranks we have come…” Clint lets the end trail off, accenting his clearly sarcastic remark.

     “Yeah, well I don’t think an ex-Jedi and a hotshot pilot would make very good spies.”

     “I never said I wanted to be a spy.”

     “No, you didn’t.”  Steve fixes the pilot with an amused gaze, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

     “You! Stay out of my head with your Jedi voo-doo!”

     “I’m not in your head. You’re broadcasting pretty clearly.  I’m surprised kay-three can’t pick it up.”  Steve’s tone is friendly and light, but that doesn’t make his statement any less true.  Clint is horrible at schooling his emotions and frequently broadcasts what he’s feeling in a way that Steve doesn’t even have to try to read his thoughts to know what he’s thinking.  Luckily, trained Force-sensitives are rather rare these days so it hasn’t posed any problems for them… yet.

     “But c’mon, Steve.  Being spies would be totally awesome!”  Clint is only half-serious about wanting to be a spy.  Much like any other person, Clint is prone to delusions of grandeur and often dreams of doing things that are ‘so much cooler’ than what he does now.  What he’ll _never_ admit to anyone else, though, is that he loves flying more than anything else in the galaxy.

     “We leave the spy stuff to Nat and we do the flying and the fighting.”  Steve answers without taking his gaze away from the controls in front of him.  “Besides, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     “Yeah, well, I’m allowed to dream.”

     “[Clint + Dreams = Stupid]”

     “Can it, you!”

 

* * * * *

 

     The planet Bimmissari was known for one thing:  being rather unremarkable.  Though the world itself functioned as a thriving trade hub for goods moving between the Empire, Hutt Space, and the Corporate Sector, it provided little else by comparison.  Lush jungles of inedible vegetation covered much of the planet and the few major cities it sported were all located either in vast open plains of short grass or along coastal bays and estuaries.

     The reason for Bimmissari being chosen for this particular courier mission, though, was two-fold.  Firstly, the Empire maintained barely a token presence in the system and patrolled only the planet’s two largest cities.  Secondly, the large amount of commercial traffic headed into and out of the system made it much easier for a single ship to go unnoticed if it didn’t cause any trouble.

     Steve and Clint’s UT-60D transport dropped out of hyperspace and slipped into local traffic without so much as a sideways glance or raised eyebrow from either the local authorities or the lone pair of Imperial TIE fighters on patrol.  The amount of commercial freighters and transports coming and going provided the perfect backdrop for them to easily blend in and arrive to their destination without being waylaid by overzealous Imperial inspection teams with not enough to do and too much time on their hands.

     Steve handled the communications end of things, calling out the ship’s registered Imperial tag to the local landing controller and getting them assigned to a landing approach to Bimmissari’s smallest major city.  Once that was completed, Clint deployed the transport’s S-foils and rolled the ship around to point southward toward their destination.

     “So did you know Nat was even in this sector? I thought she was off somewhere else doing who-knows-what for some well-to-do Imperial overseer?”  Clint asks as he brings the ship towards the edge of the approaching city.

     “Apparently her ‘boss’ has pretty wide discretion in where they go so she’s been all over the Mid Rim.”  Steve can’t help but feel a bit of apprehension regarding Natasha’s current assignment.  General Draven had been sending her on gradually more difficult assignments over the years and each one carried a greater risk of the Empire discovering her double-agent status. Still, Natasha was the consummate professional and the perfect spy, trained by the best-of-the-best in the Imperial Security Bureau. If anyone knows how to slip past the ISB, she does.

     “[Natasha = Skilled + Pretty / R4-K3 = Confident in Natasha]”

     “What?  Why is he buddy-buddy with Nat but hates me?”  Clint jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate K3.

     “Because, unlike you, Nat is _nice_ to him. You should try it some time.”

     “That’s favoritism!”

     “[Clint = Stupid]”

     “Steve, I _hate_ your droid.”

     The rest of their landing is conducted in relative silence and Clint is able to bring their ship down gently in their assigned landing bay.  After they’ve paid their docking fee, the two men leave K3 with the ship and head out to their meeting point in the city.

     Their meet point, a small pilot’s cantina located on the far side of an adjacent spaceport, is close enough to walk to and Steve always insists that they walk when possible to save credits on renting a speeder.  Clint, in a usual bout of being a worrywort, immediately espouses the possibility that one day they could end up in a really tight spot and a speeder would be a _great_ thing to have. Except, you know, they won’t _actually_ have one because Steve is _cheap_.

     Clint’s concerns turn out to be unwarranted though, as the cantina is mere minutes away by foot and the pair arrives before he’s even had a chance to try his second argument for why they need a speeder.  Steve is the one to push though the cantina doors first and picks what he assume would be Nat’s likely choice for a table.

     The thing about choosing tables in a cantina for clandestine meetings is that it requires following a specific set of guidelines and then choosing one of those guidelines at random to break.  For instance, you want a table that’s far enough from the door to prevent conversation from being overheard outside but within visible distance so that you can keep an eye on people coming and going.  Additionally, you want the table to be dark enough that you can blend into the background but not so dark that it actually _looks_ like you’re hiding from someone.

     Honed Jedi senses are often best suited to this menial, but important, task since they allow for quick stock to be taken of the entire area and a snap decision to be made without any hesitation.  Steve zeroes in on the table of choice and strolls over and takes the seat facing the door.  Clint takes the seat opposite and places his blaster on back part of the table, just in case.

     After being served a couple of drinks by the wandering waitress, a locally dressed woman with her head wrapped in gray cloth pushes her way into the booth, pushing Clint over a seat without so much as a glance in his direction.

     “So what brings a couple of fine, upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves to a dump like this?”

     “Oh, you know.  A little this; a little that.”  It’s the same greeting that Steve and Nat always exchange when meeting for a drop, and somehow it never gets old for him.

     “About time you guys got here. I was beginning to think I was being stood up.”  Natasha’s smile is playful, but they all know these meetings are all about business.

     “So, what’s with the head wrap?  New boss make you shave your head or something?”  Clint asks before taking a sip of his frothy, and oddly colored, drink.

     “Not quite.”  Natasha slips her hand inside of the head wrap and pulls out a strand of blonde hair before neatly tucking it back inside.

     “Ah, Ms. Korpenoff. The pleasure is all mine.”  The fake romanticism in his voice is easily apparent, but she always gets a kick out of Clint pretending to be sweet on her Imperial persona.

     “Alright, lover-boy, lay off the theatrics.” Steve says while smacking Clint’s hand away from Nat. “So, what is it you’re dropping for us to take in this time?”

     “Nothing, not this time.”  Nat answers while pulling something out of one of her jacket pockets. “This drop is for you, personally.”

     Steve can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the hand Natasha is holding out for him to take.  Reaching out himself, he looks on as she places two small items in his palm.  What he sees there, so small yet so distinct, send his mind and heart racing.

     Moving as though on autopilot, Steve reaches his free hand behind him to the large pouch on the back of his belt and pulls out a shiny metal tube:  his first lightsaber.

     “Hey, is it such a good idea to pull that thing out here?  What if you get caught with it?!”  Clint whisper-yells, his voice laden with concern.

     Natasha simply places a hand on Clint’s shoulder, a silent sign to be quiet and watch.

     Almost reverently, Steve takes the D-ring and mount and slides it into a slot towards the bottom of the saber where it quietly clicks, locking into place.  Then, with his other hand, he slides a finger between the folded bit of flimsi and reads the text written on it:  ‘til the end of the line.

     “Nat, where did you find this?”  Steve, the consummate Jedi, is having a hard time keeping his own emotions in check because what he’s just been given shouldn’t be possible.

     “I didn’t. Those were given to me.”

     Clint’s expression goes from concerned to confused. “I don’t get it. What’s so special about a belt clip and a piece of flimsi?”

     Steve ignores Clint’s question and instead looks Natasha in the eyes. “Who?”

     “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

 

 

 

Steve and Clint's ship in hyperspace:

3D model of the U-wing by me, render by my friend Unusualsuspex on Deviant art.

Check him out here:  [UnusualSuspex on DeviantArt.com](http://unusualsuspex.deviantart.com/gallery/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think. Shall I continue to ride this plot bunny or put it out of its misery now? :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat is still a spy, Steve recounts his past, and then Tony kriffing Stark happens. :)

    “Try me.”  Steve sets his jaw as he answers.  There’s only one person who could have possibly had this clip and known that phrase and he desperately needs answers.

    “I don’t know the guy’s name, I don’t’ think he even has one, and he’s an Inquisitor.”  Natasha answers quietly but calmly.  “I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on him for the ISB for the past six months and it’s taken this long just to get those tiny things.”

    “So what are those things anyway?” Clint asks while pointing to Steve’s lightsaber and the piece of flimsi.  “What’s so special about them?”

    Steve runs his thumb over the D-ring where it now sits attached to his lightsaber, allowing the memory of the worst day of his life to come back to him.  “Back in the Clone Wars, when Order 66 was given, I was 10 and he was 11.  We were younglings in the Jedi Temple getting ready to become padawans.”

    Leaning back in the booth, Steve can feel the pricks of tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.  He can’t afford to start getting emotional over this but, it’s hard not to.  “When Order 66 came down, and the troopers started attacking all the Jedi in the temple, we tried to escape.  We made it up to the temple hangar with kay-three and managed to get into a starfighter but everything happened so quickly.

    Kay-three started takeoff while we were still trying to get inside and then he got hit by a blaster shot from one of the troopers.  I tried to grab him but all he could reach was the end of my lightsaber.  I guess I should have paid more attention when assembling it.”  Steve smiles, but it’s one of those sad smiles that indicate the joke is on him.

    “The ring on the end of my lightsaber snapped off just as the engines started up.  I watched him fall off the wing of the fighter towards the landing platform just before we shot off into the sky.”  He takes his lightsaber and slides it into the pouch at his back before returning his hands up onto the table.  “That was the last time I saw him.”

    “What was his name?”  Natasha asks.

    “James.  His name was James.”  Steve answers quietly.

    The three of them are all quiet for a few moments, letting Steve’s story sink in.

    Clint is the first one to speak again.  “Wow man. So is that the first time you’ve ever told anyone that?”

    “I told Tony once.  That kind of put me off from telling anyone else.”

     “Yeah, he’s kind of a dick like that.”  Clint says as though it’s the most obvious fact in the whole galaxy.

    “He told me that there should be no love lost over my childhood ‘boyfriend’ and that I just needed to go get laid.”

    Clint splutters into his drink at Steve’s comment.  “You punched his lights out for that, right?   _Please_ tell me you punched his lights out!”

    “Steve wouldn’t do that. It’s not the ‘Jedi way.’  Right, Steve?”  Natasha asks while raising an eyebrow.

    “I’ve had almost 20 years to think about the ‘Jedi way.’  I’m not even sure I know what that is anymore.”

    “Okaaay, no more depressing stories of lost friends.”  Clint interjects.  “It’s killing the atmosphere.”

    “So, speaking of Tony.  I do have something for you to pass on to him.”  Natasha adds while pulling another item from her pocket.

    “I thought you said you didn’t have anything for us to take in?”  Clint definitely wouldn’t make a good spy if he can’t keep up with Nat.

    “I don’t have anything for Rebel intel.  This is personal.”  With that, Nat passes a data chip to Steve before continuing.  “He and I have been working on my ‘exit strategy.’  I need a way out of the ISB for good that doesn’t look like I’m defecting and he’s helping with that.”

    “We’ll make sure it gets passed to him.”  Steve says before pocketing the chip in his jacket.

    “I need you to deliver that to Tony _personally_.”  Natasha’s voice carries more than the typical amount of seriousness to convey her point.

    “Why us?”  Steve asks.

    “Because.”  She states matter-of-factly.  “We can get James out at the same time.”

 

* * * * *

 

    After allowing Natasha to slip out of the cantina, Steve and Clint paid their tab and headed back to their ship to depart the system.  Once they were clear of the planet and back in hyperspace, Steve slipped out of the cockpit and back into the cabin to look over the datachip Natasha had passed along.

    Using R4-K3’s holoprojector, Steve went over Nat’s plan for her extraction, noting that every contingency had been covered rather thoroughly.  Once their hyperspace vector was locked in, Clint hopped down from the pilot’s seat and joined the other two in the back.

    “So, how’s it lookin?”

    “It’s Nat’s plan, so it looks good.”  Steve answers while tapping a stylus on his chin.  “We’ll have to make a few changes since she didn’t plan to get anyone else out with her but we should be able to pull it off.”

    “You don’t sound so confident.”  Clint states, concern coloring his tone.

    Steve sighs, setting the stylus down next to him and picking his lightsaber up from his side.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve used this thing.”

    “You think you can?”

    “We can’t pull this off without a Jedi.”

    “Ah, don’t worry about that.”  Clint says flippantly.  “Phoenix Squadron has a couple.  I’m sure we can borrow one for a day or two.”

    Steve fixes the other man with a glare that’s only half amused.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

    “You’ll be fine.”  Clint states while giving Steve’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “You haven’t failed anyone yet.”

    “I failed _him_.”  Steve says dejectedly.

    “No, no no no no no!  You don’t get to throw a pity party for something that was _not_ your fault.”

    “Doesn’t matter whose fault it was.  I left him behind and I escaped.”

    “No, the _Empire_ gets the blame and even though it’s taken you a while, you’re actually _doing_ something about it now.”  Crossing his arms over his chest, Clint fixes the blonde with a stern glare.  “So don’t tell me it’s your fault when there was absolutely _nothing_ you could have done to stop the Empire from taking over.”

    K3 is the next one to make his opinion clear through a litany of emphatic noises.

    “[Steve ≠ Failure / Steve = Jedi / Jedi = Hero]”

    This brings a small smile to Steve’s lips.  “Thanks kay-three, but I’m not a hero.”

    “Far be it from me to actually _agree_ with your droid for once…”

     “[Clint = Stupid]”

    “ _Buuuut_ …”  Clint pauses to fix K3 with a dirty look.  “Kay-three’s right.”

    Steve opens his mouth to form an objection but Clint is quick to cut him off.  “No, Steve, you don’t get to disagree with us.  You may not have become a bona-fide Jedi Knight but the Jedi were the heroes of the galaxy once.  So that means you have that hero mojo in you too.  Now you just have to put it to use.”

    “[Clint = Less Stupid]”

    Clint raises an eyebrow.  “See, even the droid agrees.”

    “[Less Stupid = Still Stupid]”

    “Shush, you!”

    Steve’s smile is much more genuine this time.  He can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at his friends’ confidence in him, but at the same time it’s also reassuring.

    “I’d say that ‘I’ll try’ but we were taught that there is no try.  You either do something or you don’t.”

    “That settles it then.”  Clint states while standing and returning towards the cockpit.

    “Settles what?”

    Clint casts a friendly smirk over his shoulder at Steve.  “Just _do_.”

 

* * * * *

 

      Steve wasn’t very often impressed by things he and Clint had come across during their years working together for the Rebellion.  Despite that, dropping out of hyperspace in the vicinity of the _Hammer’s Folly_ and her escorts always sends a chill up his spine.

    The _Hammer’s Folly_ , an EF76 escort frigate, is the personal ‘flagship’ of one Commander Anthony ‘Tony’ Stark.  But, while Tony may hold the rank of Commander within the Rebellion and have a small cadre of ships under his command, he often prefers to spend his time in the cockpit, or engine compartment, of a starfighter.  He’ll tell you that it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen as some privileged kid of a corporate executive who used his dad’s money to buy himself a small fleet (even though that’s 100% accurate) but the truth is that he rather enjoys being a mechanic over anything else.

    Steve keys into the ship’s communication system as they approach the flotilla ahead.  “ _Hammer’s Folly_ , this is _Avenger One_ , requesting landing clearance.”

    “ _Avenger One_ , this is _Hammer’s Folly_. Transmit security cod…”  The flight controller is suddenly cut off by the channel switching over, leaving both Clint and Steve slightly confused.  A second later, the holoprojector on the ship’s console flickers to life with the image of a grease stained man with a flight suit tied around his waist.

    “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Jedi reject and his reject pilot friend.  What brings you out to my neck of the woods?”  Tony kriffing Stark, ladies and gentlemen.

    “We’re not rejects, Tony!”  Clint bites back.

    “Whatever you say, birdman.  So, what can I do you guys for?  Need a tune-up for that tub?  Some new upgrades?  Ooh, I know!  You’re here for my magnetic charm!”

    Steve rolls his eyes at the spectacle of a human being in front of him despite knowing that it’s all in good humor.  “Hi, Tony.  Has anyone told you how insufferable you are today?”

    “Yup, at least five people not counting Pepper, General Madine, General Dodonna, and Senator Organa.”  Tony’s smiling as though that’s some kind of accomplishment to be proud of.

    “Yet amazingly he manages not to get the message.”  Clint deadpans.

    “It’s all part of my charm.”  Tony waves them off as though it’s no big deal.  “Anyway, you know where to park. Your usual spot should be open.  If it’s not, then you can just push whatever’s there out of the way.”

    With that, the holoimage flickers off, leaving them puzzled one again at the antics of Tony Stark.

    “How does anyone put up with him?”  Clint asks as he keys in their landing approach.

    “Answer that question and I think you’ll have solved the greatest mystery of our time.”  Steve answers as he leaves his seat.  “Just get us landed and leave Stark to me.”

    “Aye-aye, Cap!”

    Clint makes easy work of maneuvering their ship into the Folly’s aft-facing bay, gently setting the craft down on the deck.  Once they’re down, Steve keys the side hatch open and steps out, R4-K3 at his side.

    Looking around the bay, Steve takes note of the multiple starfighters in various states of maintenance until his gaze rests upon a ship that he doesn’t recognize.  The new fighter has a sleek hull, more angular than an X-wing but much more streamlined.  The rear of the ship has two wings, slightly swept forward and angled down with the engines and weapons slung beneath the outer wing joint.  Overall the design look both aesthetic and deadly, something likely design by Tony himself.

    “You like it?”

    Steve looks up and sees Tony, still covered in grease with his flight suit tied around him, approaching from the opposite side of the hangar.

    “Not sure what I’m going to call it yet, but she’s my new baby!”  Tony beams proudly at his work, always at his happiest when he’s showing off a new piece of engineering.

    “The design looks good, but how does it handle?”  Steve may not be a pilot by trade, but most Jedi make naturally gifted pilots thanks to their connection to the Force.

    “She cuts through space like a hot knife though bantha butter. But I assume you’re not here to check out my goods, are you?”  Always trust Tony to cut to the chase quickly.

    “Actually Nat sent us.  Kay-three has her extraction plans plus a few modifications and wanted us to deliver them personally.”

    “Us, or _you_?”  For as much as Tony claims to not be good with people, he’s a rather astute judge of them.

    Steve fixes the shorter man with a glare meant to kill, though it probably just comes off more as ‘annoyed.’ “Me.  There’s… someone else that I want to get out with her.”

    “Someone else?”

    “Yeah, someone else.”

    It’s then that Clint comes bounding over from their ship.  “What did I miss?”

    “We’re rescuing our resident Jedi’s long-lost boyfriend!”  Tony exclaims as though it’s the best news he’s heard all year.

    “Tony…”

    Tony pats Steve on the back with a grease-stained hand.  “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Cap.  We’ll have you reunited with the love of your life in no time!  Oh, and we should probably get Nat out while we’re at it.”

    “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”

    “Not a damn thing.”  Tony answers quickly.  “Sometimes the universe takes a huge poo-doo on you just because it can.  Welcome to my world.”

    K3 decides then is as good a time as any to head off to droid maintenance, but gets his own two cents before rolling off.  “[Tony = Stupid]”

    “Did your droid just insult me?”  Tony asks while acting hurt, overdramatically.

    “You get used to it after a while.”  Clint states as he heads off towards the crew mess while sending a silent prayer up to his lucky star, hoping they have pizza today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping it going people.
> 
> Feel free to leave suggestions and ideas in the comments for things you'd like to see (or not see) such as cameos or other Star Wars universe characters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gives Steve a pep talk, Clint uses Steve as a Jedi Wikipedia, and Tony kriffing Stark is still Tony kriffing Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a slight trigger warning. Steve discusses a past suicidal ideation he had when on the run after Order 66. It's not graphic and was just an ideation, but still. If you aren't cool with that then skip the middle part of the chapter.

* * * * *

 

    The holoprojection in the center of the room does nothing to hide the severe lines of Steve’s face as he considers the plans laid out in front of him.  He, Tony, Clint, and several of the ship’s pilots are all stood around the holo-table, a map of the operational plan laid out before them.  They’d spent the past hour going over Natasha’s plan along with the intel she had provided and everyone had come to the conclusion that the mission was easily doable.

    Steve was the only one of the group that had any reservations about the entire thing and it was showing in the hard set lines of his concerned expression.

    Once they all finished going over the plan, Tony was the one who decided to hang back.  Steve seemed entirely lost in thought, though the older man knew that the Jedi was no less aware of his surroundings.

    “Credit for your thoughts, Cap?”

    “What if what I find in there isn’t…  What if he’s not who I remember anymore?”  Steve answers without looking up from the table.

    “Then you make him remember who he was.”

    “It’s not that easy.”

    Tony turns to face the taller man while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his flight suit because feelings suck and Tony Stark is incredibly bad at feelings.  “Look.  I’m not the best when it comes to people…”  Steve fixes him with a very clear ‘ _ no poo-doo _ ’ look.  “Okay fine, I’m probably the  _ last _ person who should be giving you advice, but, I know you.  I also know that you don’t give up when it really counts.  So, don’t give up.”

    “It’s just that simple, huh?”  Steve asks with a raised eyebrow.

    “For you? Absolutely!”  Tony flashes his most genuine smile.  “You’re like the poster child of righteousness and doing the right thing.  Just keep on doing the right thing and you’ll be fine.  That, and think of getting Natasha out from under the thumb of the ISB as a bonus.”

    “You know, despite what everyone says about you, you’re a good friend, Tony.”

    “Thanks, I try.”  Suddenly, Tony’s expression falls to one of complete confusion.  “Wait, what does everyone say about me?”

    “Not a damn thing.”  Steve states flatly as he walks toward the exit.

    “C’mon, Steve, my ego is fragile!”

    “Keep telling yourself that!”  Steve calls back over his shoulder before disappearing through the briefing room door.

 

* * * * *

 

    Clint walks into the  _ Folly _ ’s training room a few hours later looking for Steve.  If the ex-Jedi isn’t in the mess hall or rearranging his few personal belongings on their ship then the next likely place for him to be is in the gym.  What Clint finds there, however, is nothing like what he expected.

    Steve is usually one for hitting the weights before tiring himself out doing cardio but today he’s doing something else entirely.  Instead of his usual training, the blonde is over on a set of padded mats, lightsaber in hand, going through what look like basic martial arts forms.

    Steve expertly swings the bluish-silver blade of his ‘saber through sweeping and jabbing movements while stepping deftly through each motion with a kind of grace that would put a ballet dancer to shame.  With as much as the ex-Jedi espouses that he’s terrible at dancing, Clint is beginning to think that couldn’t be further from the truth.

    At first Steve's just doing combinations of ‘saber swings and steps, but then he starts doing other things, like jumps and spins and moving more quickly.  It's pretty phenomenal to see even if you don't know that he’s a Jedi – he's way faster and stronger than a normal person, like in those high-budget action-holos where they use special effects and crazy camera angles to make it look like the hero is accomplishing impossible feats.  However, everyone on the ship knows who he is and after a while everyone else in the gym has stopped what they’re doing and is openly staring at him.

    Then he suddenly stops, shuts his lightsaber down and collapses down on the edge of the mat facing Clint, putting his back to the rest of the room.  “How many people were watching me?”

    “Pretty much everyone.”

    Steve hangs his head but Clint can still see the edges of a smile on his face.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve trained with my ‘saber.”

    “Seriously?!”  Clint says, disbelievingly.  “You looked like a kriffing  _ master _ with that thing.”

    “Huh, I wish.”  Steve’s smile gets bigger at the compliment and his cheeks get just the slightest bit redder.

    “So why did you stop practicing with it anyway?”

    Steve’s smile fades and his gaze becomes far away as he contemplates Clint’s question.  “About six months after escaping from the Temple, kay-three and I were hiding out in a shipping warehouse on Corellia.  It was cold and damp and I was having a hard time finding food for myself.  I had my eleventh birthday in that warehouse and it was the first time out of all the birthdays that I could remember that Bucky wasn’t there for.”

    “Bucky?”  Clint’s face looks confused at the name.

    “Sorry.  That’s what I called James when we were kids.  The other younglings and instructors called him by his first name but I called him Bucky.”

    Clint flashes a mischievous smile.  “Awww.  Did he call you ‘Stevie’ in return?”

    “Actually, yeah he did.”

    Well color Clint surprised at that one.  “Wow.  I was totally  _ not _ serious about that.”

    “It’s okay.”  Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before continuing.  “With Bucky not around and being stuck in a warehouse with just the clothes on my back and a droid, I didn’t see any way out of that.  For a second, I actually considered using my lightsaber to put myself out of my misery.”

    Clint suddenly looks like he’s just seen a ghost.  “Wait! You didn’t…”

    “No!”  Steve is quick to interject.  “No, I didn’t actually try anything.  I just thought for a minute that it would be easier, you know?  When we die we all return to the Force and I thought that maybe I’d get to see Bucky again.”

    They’re both silent for a space before Steve speaks again.  “Once I came to my senses I realized what I had just considered doing and I felt ashamed of myself.  It also didn’t help that carrying around a lightsaber was akin to a death sentence. So, I stuffed it into the bottom of my pack and made a promise to myself that I’d never use my lightsaber again until I’d re-earned the right to do so.”

    “Have you?”  Clint asks.

    “I hope I have.”  Steve says.  “We’ve done a lot of good for the Rebels and we’ve helped a lot of people over the years so I’d like to think that counts for something.”

    “Well if anyone deserves to hold that thing, it’s you.”  Clint states, pointedly.

    “Thanks.  I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

    “Hey, speaking of your lightsaber.  I noticed that the blade is almost silver.  I thought they were all blue or green?”  Clint notices Steve’s slight smile has returned and he gives himself a little mental fist-pump.  If he can get Steve talking about things that he enjoys or good memories that he has, then hopefully he’ll be in a better headspace for their mission.

    “Most of them were, yeah.  I assume you got that from watching old holos from the Clone Wars.”  At Clint’s affirmative nod, the blonde continues.  “Most Jedi lightsabers use kyber crystals.  Kyber crystals are actually clear naturally but when a Jedi connects to one through the Force, they take on the color that most clearly characterizes them.  Green symbolizes peace and balance while blue represents protection and those who take action.  Other colors are less common but they still existed.”

    “What about yours?  Is yours a kyber or whatever?”

    “No, actually, mine’s an adegan crystal and it was already silver when I connected to it.”

    Clint considers this for a moment.  “So you just picked it ‘cause you liked it?”

    Steve chuckles slightly at that idea.  “No, crystals pick the wielder, not the other way around.”

    “So it picked you then?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Okay.  So what does silver mean?”

    Steve’s previous smile grows a bit when he answers.  “Silver represents honesty, righteousness, and strength.”

    “Ha ha ha!”  Clint’s laugh is full of amusement though not directed  _ at _ Steve, rather  _ with _ him.  “The Force  _ so _ has you pegged!”

    “Yeah, well, at the time I was a small, gangly kid so I thought the Force was playing some kind of joke on me.  Like the universe was having one big laugh at my expense.”

    “You?  Small and gangly?  Really?!”

    “Yeah, I was always one of the smallest younglings in my group.  Bucky used to tell me that didn’t matter.  Since my crystal was silver that meant I’d grow up to be the strongest Jedi in the whole Order.”

    Clint reaches a hand out to help Steve up from the mats.  “Well, Mr. ‘Strongest Jedi in the whole Order,’ we have about 12 hours until we get this show on the road so you might want to get some food and sleep.”

    Steve takes the offered hand to help stand and clips his lightsaber to his belt.  “You going back to the ship?”

    “Nah.  Tony told us to take a couple of the pilot bunks since the night crew is going to be doing maintenance in the hangar.  Didn’t really fancy trying to sleep in the ship with all the hangar lights on.”

    “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

    “Oh, and don’t forget to shower.  Doesn’t matter if you’re the strongest Jedi in the whole Order if you’re also the smelliest!”

    Clint somehow manages to dodge the hand towel that Steve halfheartedly throws at him, laughing his way out of the gym.  But hey, at least he got Steve smiling again.

 

* * * * *

 

    Steve didn’t sleep hardly at all that night.  The few hours of rest he did manage to get were interspersed with dreams, or nightmares, forcing him to relive watching Bucky fall.  Over and over in his mind the dream repeated, seemingly playing tricks against him as he would be a mere moment away from saving his best friend, only to watch him fall again.

     Several times he awoke with a start, brow damp with sweat and fists curled in the covers of his bunk, unable to shake the sense of dread that that singular memory could awaken in him.  Luckily he and Clint had been given an empty two-bunk pilot’s room so there was no need to worry about waking the crew up with his fits and starts; plus, Clint could sleep through a supernova without so much as rolling over to make himself more comfortable.  Thank the Force for small blessings.

     By the time morning rolls around, Steve had managed a grand total of three hours of sleep, but that was going to have to cut it for today.  He could always try to get a quick meditation session in while they headed to wherever their mission would take place, but he would likely be too nervous to succeed in that regard.

     Going through the motions of shaving, dressing himself, and getting food from the mess hall, Steve returned to his and Clint’s shared bunk room to find the pilot still sprawled across his bed.  Clint had kicked his blanket onto the floor and his hair was sticking up every which way to Life Day but he somehow still managed to be asleep.

     Steve smiled slightly and shook his head.  For being one of the best pilots in the Rebellion (Clint would say that he’s  _ the _ best pilot…), he somehow also managed to be one of the laziest.

     Not wanting Clint’s sleeping habits to make them late, Steve tosses a breakfast ration packet onto the pilot’s stomach.  The impact of the offending item causes Clint to bolt upright in bed where he summarily knocks his forehead on the top of the bunk.

     “Mornin’ sunshine.”  Steve states with a small smile.

     “What the kriff was that for?  What time is it?”

     “Because I can, and it’s 0800 hours.  Tony sent me a message on my datapad.  He wants to see us in the hangar to go over some stuff.”  Steve answers while holding up said pad.

     “What for?  Please tell me he didn’t do anything to the ship!”  Clint is suddenly fully awake and an edge of panic is creeping into his voice.  “He better not have touched my ship!”

     “Relax.  I’m sure he just wants to go over the mission plan one last time.”

     “If you say so.  He better not have done anything to my ship though...”

     Fifteen minutes later, Steve and Clint entered the hangar to find Tony waiting for them, large smile plastered on his face, in front of their ship.  The only problem was that their ship didn’t look like their ship anymore.

     “What in the nine hells did you do to my ship!?”  Clint exclaims while gesturing at his and Steve’s U-wing.  “What happened to the red stripes!?  And what the kriff did you do to the engines!?”

     Tony immediately puts his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.  “Slow down, Hawkette.  Give me two minutes and I’ll explain.”

     “You have one!”  Clint says with a glare.

     “I had your ship repainted because we can’t have a  _ registered Imperial courier _ participating in a smash-and-grab for the Rebellion.  It’s kinda bad for your day job, yes?  I also swapped out your ship’s transponder for one that will identify it as a known Rebel ship, again, to protect your day jobs.”

     “I don’t care about that crap.”  Clint says while throwing his hands in the air.  “We’re talking about getting Natasha away from the Empire.”

     “C’mon, Clint.”  Steve pleads.  “General Draven would probably lose it if our ability to move freely in Imperial space was compromised.”

     “I don’t care about that!”  Clint exclaims.

     “Steve thought you might say that so I went ahead and did it anyway.  You’re welcome.”  Tony smile while stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his flight suit.

     “Ugh fine!  So what the hell did you do to the engines then?”

     “Oh, that’s the best part!”  Tony’s voice takes on an air of smugness as he starts pointing out his hand-crafted modifications.  “I replaced your standard intake impellers with custom designed ones.  Should give you about 15% more engine power which means you can fly faster.  And faster is good, yes?”

     “Mmm, hmm.”  Clint hums while crossing his arms across his chest.

     Steve gets the feeling that Clint is being petulant simply for the sake of being petulant but is secretly appreciative of Tony’s modifications.  By the time their mission is over, Clint will probably be back here thanking Tony profusely for the new hardware.

     “I also replaced your hyperdrive unit with one that I’ve tuned myself, so you now have a Class 1.0 drive instead of the 2.0 you had before.”

     Clint doesn’t respond this time, simply choosing to maintain his glare at the engineer.

     “Your power core has been up-rated and then there’s the icing on the cake.  You now have a nose turret!”  Tony beams while indicating the new weapon now hanging from the nose of their craft.

     “Laser cannon?”  Clint asks.

     “Ion cannon, actually.”  Tony answers flatly.  “It’ll be useful for the mission  _ aaaaaaand _ it looks really cool.”  The last part is punctuated with a double thumbs-up.

     “If you say so.”  Clint states before moving off into the ship.

     Tony rolls his eyes before turning to Steve.  “You know, you would think I’d at least get a ‘thank you’ out of that.”

     “Thank you, Tony.”  Steve replies with mock enthusiasm.

     “So, you ready to go get your man?”

     “Tony…”  Steve trails off, a clear hint of warning in his voice.

     “Relax, Cap.  I’m just teasing you.”  The engineer replies while clapping a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.  “Besides, I’m pretty sure the Jedi Code doesn’t require you to have your lightsaber shoved up your shebs all the time so just chill.  I only tease people I like anyway, like you and Hawkbat over there.”

     “I heard that!”  Clint calls from inside the ship.

     “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you tease Nat.”  Steve states, musingly.

     Tony looks mortified at that idea.  “Are you kidding?  I might be crazy but I don’t have a death wish.  That woman is  _ literally _ the only person who scares me more than Pepper.”

     “Not even me?”  Steve asks with a smile.

     “Hahaha!  You are the galaxy’s biggest kath hound puppy.  A giant, blonde, kath hound puppy.  The only people scared of you are small children and my bridge crew.  Apparently you have a trademark ‘the Jedi are disappointed in you’ look that makes them all want to rethink their lives.”

     “Good to know I have that effect on  _ someone _ .”  The blonde says, coloring his voice with false dejection.

     “Don’t worry, Steve.  We’ll get his mission pulled off and then you can concentrate on getting your friend settled in and taken care of.  And, if it turns out he’s been brainwashed or whatever, then I know a guy who can help.”  Steve raises an eyebrow which prompts Tony to continue.  “What?  I  _ do _ have friends.  You know, just like a normal person.”

     “If you say so, Tony.”

     “You’re not my friend?”

     “For some reason the phrase ‘guilt by association’ comes to mind.”

     Tony immediately clutches his chest as though he’s been shot in the heart, making the gesture as overly dramatic as possible.  “You wound me, Steven!  You’ve hurt my feeling.  My one and only feeling!”

     “Self-satisfaction?”  Steve asks with a smile.

     “Yes, that one!  You’ve hurt it and now it’s dead.  You’ve left me to find another feeling to replace it.”  Tony pouts.

     “I’m sure you’ll manage.”  Steve says as he walks toward his and Clint’s waiting ship.  “But hey…”

     “Hm?”

     “May the Force be with you.”  Steve says, solemnly.

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  You too, Cap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how I'm doing, good or bad! All feedback is welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some laser/fighter/pew-pew action. I'm not the best at writing space combat but I tried anyway. :P

* * * * *

 

     Agent Alina Korpenoff looks out the cockpit window of her Imperial shuttle, studying the disabled medium transport currently trailing smoke ahead.  The  _ Soldat _ had encountered the helpless ship on its patrol a few hours earlier and now Alina, plus a handful of stormtroopers, are heading over to have a look around.

     She had clearly stated to the Inquisitor (James, as she now knew his name to be) that she could handle the inspection of a disabled ship on her own and that he didn’t need to waste any energy when the ship in question was already in no condition to put up a fight.  The man had silently nodded his assent and allowed her to use the ship’s shuttle to be on her way.

     Alina had then made her selections for her boarding party, choosing the most competent of the troopers on board the ship to accompany her.  Stormtroopers didn’t typically rate very high on the overall scale of Imperial competence or efficiency, ranking only slightly higher than the  _ Soldat _ ’s high-capacity trash compactor in her personal estimation.  But, she had to make her departure look at least somewhat convincing and choosing from the dregs of the troopers wouldn’t help that.

     Now, onboard the shuttle with just herself, two pilots, and six troopers, she was ready to make her move.  With the transport growing slowly in the viewport, the co-pilot speaks up with a tone of surprise in his voice.

     “Ma’am, the ship’s engines are powering up.  They’re getting ready to jump to hyperspace…”

     “Can this thing go any faster?”  She asks, coloring her voice with authority, as though eager to go in for the kill.

     “We’re at full speed and still too far away.”  The pilot answers from the adjacent seat.

     Alina watches out the viewport as the transport’s engines flicker to life before it angles itself slightly and then rockets off into hyperspace.

     “They’ve jumped to hyperspace, ma’am.”

     “I can see that, pilot.”  She answers, the venom clear in her voice to communicate her false frustration.

     “Sensors show more ships incoming!”

     Alina smirks to herself, enjoying the moment as the pieces of the plan she carefully laid start falling into place.   _ Looks like it’s time for the favored daughter of the ISB to make her long-overdue exit _ .

 

* * * * *

 

    “Look alive people.  Let’s do this!”  Tony Stark yells out to the  _ Folly _ ’s bridge crew.  Uncharacteristically, the man is standing in front of the main bridge windows instead of flying one of his starfighters.  Normally, he’d leave command of his ship in the capable hands of one of his other officers, or even his droid J4R-V15, but this particular mission needed just a bit more supervision.  Tony himself is far from a strategic or operational genius when it comes to coordinating fleet maneuvers but he’s not averse to occasionally stepping outside of his comfort zone.

     Besides, this mission is being carried out for two of his friends and the fighter combat is likely to be  _ lacking _ anyway.  No use wasting his exceptional piloting skills on the Empire’s peons.

     “Three seconds to drop.”  One of the technicians reports from the navigation console.

     Tony ticks the three seconds off in his mind and then watches as the swirling vortex of hyperspace is stretched and snapped, being replaced with normal space once again.  In front of the  _ Folly _ and her three escorting corvettes sit the  _ Soldat _ and her escorts, exactly as expected.

     “One light cruiser and two transports on sensors.  There’s a shuttle trying to make a run for it.”  The sensor operator reports.

     “Ion cannons on the shuttle and let’s punch a hole in that cruiser’s shields.”

     Starfighters begin dropping out of hyperspace, swarming around the  _ Folly _ like Chandrillan honey bees loosed from their nest.  All of the fighters start coming together, forming up into three neat groups – two X-wing and one Y-wing – before rocketing off towards the Imperial battlegroup in front of them.  From the  _ Folly _ ’s point of view, the  _ Soldat _ sits directly ahead while the edge of the Roche asteroid field dominates the view just behind and to the left. 

     Stark abandons his position in front of the main windows and takes up a spot behind the navigation and sensor operators.  “What do we have sitting out there, boys?”

     “One  _ Arquitens _ -class light cruiser, two  _ Gozanti _ -class transports and ten TIE fighters.”  The sensor tech answers.

     “What do you know; Nat really came through on that intel.”  Tony quickly runs the numbers for unit strengths in his head.  His flagship is the – personally customized –  _ Nebulon _ -class escort frigate  _ Hammer’s Folly _ , easily capable of taking an  _ Arquitens _ -class ship alone.  Along with that are the CR-90 corvettes  _ Zeppelin _ and  _ Sabbath _ , both more than a match for the two  _ Gozanti _ -class transports.  Rounding out his little fleet is the  _ Hammerhead _ -class combat corvette  _ Smashmouth _ , acting as the group’s strong-but-nimble long-range hitter.  While this group of ships would be hard pressed to take down a full on Star Destroyer, they are more than capable of handling the lighter Imperial ships that they’re currently facing off against.  Plus he’s got fourteen starfighters to the Empire’s ten.  For once, the odds are  _ actually _ in their favor.

     “Make sure we send that cruiser’s coordinates to Captain Prissy-Pants and Birdbrain.  And keep their approach clear of ships.  We don’t want them ramming up our tailpipe, no matter how much some of you may or may not enjoy that.”

     “Coordinates sent.”  The comm officer calls from across the bridge.

     “Good.”  Tony states while crossing his arms in front of him.  “Now tell those Y-wings pop a squat and drop some ion turds on that cruiser.  Let’s light her up!”

 

* * * * *

 

     “Incoming torpedoes!”  One of the Imperial techs calls out across the Soldat’s bridge.

     “Intensify forward defensive fire.  Don’t let any of them get through.”  Replies the ship’s captain, firmly standing his ground behind the central control console.

     On the bridge of the  _ Soldat _ , the Inquisitor maintains his customary position next to the captain, watching through the forward windows at the battle outside.  The space in front of the ship is being peppered with flak explosions, fighters engaged in dogfights zipping past at incredible speeds with lasers blaring and torpedoes whizzing by.  But, despite the chaos raging just outside the ship he feels calm, collected, and centered in the moment.

     There is something, some _ one _ , approaching and with them comes a sense of anticipation but also of clarity.  The Inquisitor hasn’t felt this sense of clearness for more years than he can remember.  It’s like stepping into the eye of a storm where the wind is still and no sound can be heard, where the raging maelstrom of the universe pauses and allows you to take a breath and just be.

     Quickly turning on his heel, the Inquisitor strides down the three steps from the Soldat’s command platform and toward the main lift.

     “Inquisitor, where are you going?”  The captain asks, turning away from the viewports.

     “I have business to attend to.”  He answers, his response coming across clipped.  The mask on his face distorts his voice, making it sound both slightly artificial and otherworldly at the same time.

     “What kind of business?  We’re in the middle of battle!”  The man states, exasperated.

     The captain’s response is plain and obvious because the Inquisitor thinks, the man is capable of little else.  Unhooking his lightsaber from his belt, ensuring that it is visible but still at this side, he answers.  “Business.”

     The captain opens his mouth as though to make some kind of objection, but quickly closes it at the sight of the taller man’s lightsaber held in his gloved right hand.  Knowing that the captain is too concerned with his own personal safety to push further, the Inquisitor steps into the lift and lets the closing door separate him from the incompetence currently filling the  _ Soldat _ ’s bridge to capacity.

     As the lift descends the short distance to the ship’s main deck, the Inquisitor is left to his own thoughts.   _ Let this be the end, and let it be by  _ his _ hand, alone. _

 

* * * * *

 

     “Hold onto your butts!”  Clint calls out as he pulls back on the ship’s hyperspace controls.  The tunnel of hyperspace dissolves into star streaks for a moment before being immediately replaced with starships, fighters, lasers, and multiple explosions.  “Kriffing hell!”

     Clint jerks the controls hard to the left to avoid one of Stark’s corvettes as it trades fire with the Imperial transport ahead of it.  A split second later, he throws the ship into a tight roll to the right, avoiding two TIE fighters as they scream by while chasing a pair of X-wings.  “Where the hell did you get the idea to drop us out of hyperspace  _ in the middle of a fire fight _ ?!  ‘Going unnoticed’ my ass!”

     “What?”  Steve shrugs from the adjacent seat.  “General Skywalker did it when he and General Kenobi were rescuing Master Koth from the Separatists during the Clone Wars.  Besides, I knew you could pull it off.”

     “[Odds of failure = 225,360:1 / R4-K3 = lucky to still be alive]”

     “Steve!  Your droid’s not helping!”  Clint yells over the sound of a flak explosion impacting the ship’s shields.

     “That’s just his way of saying ‘thanks.’”  Steve answers while pulling the trigger on his controls.   His two shots hit their intended target, causing an enemy TIE to spin uncontrollably into the side of the other Imperial transport where it explodes over the larger ship in a shower of sparks and debris.

     “Well he has a funny way of showing it.”  Clint swings the U-wing wide around the back of the Imperial battle group.  As he completes their turn, the  _ Soldat _ ’s engines are now lined up ahead of them.  “You ready on that ion cannon?”

    Without any further prompting Steve pulls the trigger six times.  With each pull, a pair of blue-white bolts of energy streak across space before impacting in a brilliant shower of sparks and energy over the Imperial cruiser’s aft end.  Moments after all of their shots hit home, the Soldat’s engines flicker, sputter several times, and then finally wink out completely.

    “Done.”  Steve states without fanfare.

    “Yeah, yeah.”  Clint says mockingly.

    With the Soldat’s engines - and main power by extension – offline, Clint brings their ship up and over the top of the now-disabled vessel where he docks to an exposed maintenance hatch.

    The two vessels successfully docked, Steve hops down from his seat and pulls open the docking hatch in the deck, exposing the Soldat’s own hatch underneath.

    “You got the breaching charges?”  Clint asks while peering over Steve’s shoulder.

    Steve fixes the pilot with a level, if unimpressed, look as he pulls out his lightsaber.  “Jedi don’t need breaching charges.”  Steve states flatly before igniting his ‘saber and plunging it into the hatch’s metal surface.

    The silver blade slides easily through the metal and Steve pulls it in a wide circle that’s just a bit larger than his own shoulders.  Once the circle is complete the thick metal of the door drops out, clattering to the deck below.

    “Show off.”  Clint deadpans.

    Steve just shrugs as he deactivates his lightsaber and jumps into the innards of the ship below.

    Sighing, Clint grabs his favorite rifle off the nearby weapons rack – his personally-customized bowcaster – and drops down after his friend.

    The interior of the  _ Soldat _ is cast in dark shadows left by the red emergency glow panels lit throughout the corridors.  Steve moves forward into the closest junction, checking for Imperial crew or troopers, before ducking back once he confirms that the coast is clear.

    K3 drops through their entry hole, landing softly with his rocket-jets while warbling in a complaining manner.

   “[ Dark hallways = unsafe / R4-K3 = has bad feeling about this ]”

    “Clint, you and kay-three find a terminal and see if you can put everything except the main passageway on lockdown.  Security systems and life support run on back-up power so you should be able to do it.”  Steve directs.

    “You know, I liked this plan a lot better when all we had to do was dock with Nat’s shuttle and bust her out.”

    “[ Simple tasks = better for simple minds ]”

    “Can it, you glorified trash compactor!”  Clint whisper-yells at the droid as it rolls down the corridor.

    “Just do your best to keep the troopers occupied and keep clear.”  Steve states while looking down the darkened passageway towards the center of the ship.  “I’ll comm you when I find him.”  Steve’s eyes take on a distinctly distant appearance as he finishes his statement.

    “Hey,” Clint says while placing a hand on Steve’s back for support.  “You’ll find your friend and then we’ll get him  _ and _ Nat out of here and it’ll all work out.”

    “Yeah, okay.”  Steve says with a clear lack of confidence in his voice.

    Clint just nods in answer before moving down the hallway after K3.

    Turning to face down the passageway, Steve can feel an almost cold presence waiting for him.  He stretches out with his mind, feeling the area ahead of him through the Force and what he feels through that cold is  _ fear _ .  It’s impossible to get a more solid read but the only thing that he can clearly sense is that fear.

    Steeling himself against whatever,  _ whom _ ever, he will have to face, he begins walking forward to meet the inevitable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve confronts Bucky, Clint and K3 still have issues with each other, and Step 1 of Steve's non-existent master plan (he doesn't have one, never has...) comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first time writing a lightsaber duel. I went and read several scenes from various Star Wars books that have lightsaber fights in them, just to see if I could get the pacing and descriptives down. Hopefully this turned out okay... *fingers crossed* :P

    Steve didn’t have very far to go.  Barely a few yards into the cruiser’s main passageway and he comes face-to-face with the source of the fear he’s been sensing.

    The figure before him is clad in armor, almost black in color, the Imperial crest prominently emblazoned in crimson on both shoulders.  Looking this person over, Steve notes an artificial right arm, complete from shoulder to hand, and covered in layered matte black metal.  This is an Imperial Inquisitor, a symbol of fear and obedience throughout the Empire.

    Reaching up towards its head, the Inquisitor unclasps his face mask and removes it from his head to let it drop to the floor beside him.  The face behind the mask is both an image from his past and a complete stranger at the same time.  The one feature that stands out above all the others is the eyes.

    Gray eyes, specked with hints of blue around the center akin to the sky just before a storm, the gray and the blue mixing just before the rain begins.  There’s only one person he’s ever known to have those eyes.

    “Bucky?!”  Steve’s voice comes out strained, full of uncertainty and disbelief.  This shouldn’t be possible; it isn’t possible.  It’s happening anyway.

    The Inquisitor feels something inside himself that he’d thought dead long ago.  Only one person could know that name.  Only one person had ever called him by that name and only one person could cause the stirring inside his chest that he’s feeling now.  “Steve.”

    Steve stares on helplessly for a second, unable to put thoughts into words, unable to process the person that’s standing in front of him.  But, his stupor doesn’t last long.

    His stupor is ended rather quickly when the Inquisitor’s right hand sprouts a crimson rod of plasma, his lightsaber.  Reflexively, Steve ignites his own silver blade and holds it out in front of him in the ready position.

    “Bucky, you don’t…” but Steve’s words are cut short when the Inquisitor lunges at him, bringing their blades together in flash of plasma against plasma.

 

* * * * *

 

    Clint was not having fun.  Nope, no fun to be had in the slightest.  Wandering the darkened engineering spaces of a disabled cruiser:  not fun.  Being stuck with Steve’s judgmental astromech:  not fun.

    Even worse, in Clint’s mind, was their current predicament.  He and K3 had wedged themselves into an auxiliary engineering station to let the droid do his work.  Slight problem:  the space is small and with main power down there’s no air conditioning.

    So, put that all together and Clint is stuck in a small space with a droid that doesn’t like him and it’s swelteringly hot.  Kriff.

    Clint is, eventually, pulled out of his little bubble of over-heated misery when K3 starts warbling from the console he’s working.

    [ R4-K3 = found important information / Information = Imperial Intelligence ]

    “You found intel?”  Clint asks, amazed.  “What kind?”

    [ Imperial fueling depot locations + ship movement schedules ]

    “Huh, that might be something we could use.” Clint muses while tossing around options in his head.  “How far out does the schedule go?”

    [ Schedule = 1 week in length ]

    “Wait, only a week?!”

    [ R4-K3 = not repeating himself ]

    “Don’t get smart with me tin-can!”  A week of valid ship movement information is at least enough to allow Rebel ships to pass through the Mid Rim without bumping into Imperial patrols, but Clint knows that they need more information if they want to plan something offensive in nature.  “We’ll take what we can get.  Can you copy it?”

    [ R4-K3 = can copy information / Empire = can trace copied information ]

    “Damn.  So they’ll know we’ve taken it?”

    [ R4-K3 = not repeating himself, again ]

    Rather than retorting, Clint decides to simply glare at the droid instead.  If the Empire knows that they’ve stolen the information, then they’ll just reschedule ship movements and patrols which would defeat the purpose of getting it in the first place.  Clint mulls over ideas in his head until one of them finally sticks.

    “Can you delete the information after you copy it?”  Clint asks.

    [ Deleted information = still traceable ]

    “Okay… what if we wipe the whole ship’s database?”

    [ Database control = in main computer core / Database ≠ deleted from here ]

    “Ugh, okay fine!  What can you do from here?”  Clint whines while pouting at the indifferent droid.

    [ Auxiliary Engine Control = can control main reactor / R4-K3 = set reactor to overload when power restored ]

    “Huh, not a bad idea…”  Clint thinks.

 

* * * * *

 

    Blade-to-blade, Steve and the Inquisitor are a match.  Each move by one is met with an equal counter-move from the other in a deadly ballet of flashing plasma and whirring blades.

    In each exchange of blows, Steve gives ground.  It’s his way and the only way he can find to move in this fight.  The Inquisitor, Bucky, his best friend, is coming after him and the growing sense of dread at the thought of having to cut him down is threatening to burn his heart to dust.

    “Buck, it’s me!  I came to get you out!”  Steve pleads, blades locked together and crackling with crimson and silver energy.

    A roar from the Force shoves Steve back into a bulkhead, forcing the breath from his body and leaving him half stunned.  “You can’t get me out.  Inquisitors can’t get out.”

    Steve takes several labored breaths, working to get his wind back while keeping his blade up in defense.  “I can get you out.  You can leave with me right now!”

    “There is only one path to freedom for an Inquisitor.”  The answer is accompanied by a renewed attack.  With their blades locked once more, he speaks again.  “There are fates worse than death.”

    Horror dawns across Steve’s emotions as he realizes the gravity of that phrase.  His best friend, a slave to the Empire in all but name, is asking Steve to kill him.  He can’t do that.

    Steve parries the Inquisitor’s blade, directing both of their blades up and over, slicing through the passage’s overhead and down through a control panel.  Doors in the passageway begin opening, their circuits damaged by the pair of lightsabers.

    The Inquisitor follows Steve through a blast door, constantly attacking.  Steve continues giving ground again and again, retreating along through the ship as he tries to get a handle on the situation.  Over and over the Inquisitor forces him back, slamming his blade down with a strength that seems to flow directly from the Force around them.  He spins, throwing Steve off balance before landing a hard kick to the blonde’s center of mass.  Steve is pushed hard into a side passage; a dead end.

When their blades lock again, Steve can see the light from their crossed ‘sabers reflecting in the Inquisitor’s eyes.  Eyes he remembers from his childhood but ultimately changed by their circumstances.  Eyes once filled with happiness and hope now carry the twin burdens of fear and pain.

     “There is only one way for an Inquisitor to achieve peace.”

     “No, Buck.  You can come with me!  You can’t ask me to kill you!”  Steve’s voice is pleading, hoping against all hope that he can get through the façade of the Inquisitor and reach his childhood best friend.  “I won’t kill you, Buck.  Don’t make me do this!”

     Steve is rapidly beginning to realize that this is not a battle of Jedi against Inquisitor or even Light against Dark.  This isn’t good versus evil; it has nothing to do with a code, or honor, or beliefs or morality.

     This is a battle of hope against fear.  The hope that Steve holds that he can save his friend pitted against that friend’s belief that the only way to escape his enslavement of pain and fear is to die.

     “One of us won’t walk away from this.  That’s the only way this ends.”  The Inquisitor’s expression doesn’t change and his tone doesn’t falter.  It’s stated as a fact, not as a question.

     Natasha would probably be the one to call Steve a worrier, but even he himself could admit that he’s now becoming worried about how he can pull his friend out of his fear.  Pushing back with his own blade, Steve reaches deep inside him, down to where his very soul touches the Force, and draws to himself the resolve he needs to do to save his friend.

     Gone is the Steve who gave ground to the Inquisitor.  Gone is the man who worried that any amount of force from himself would injure his oldest friend.  Gone are the questions of what should be done.

     Down passageways and corridors, Steve can feel the approach of Clint and K3, and knows what he has to do.

     Thrusting forward, Steve drives his lightsaber before him, the silver blade leading his charge as his begins to retake all the ground he had given away before.

     The Inquisitor counters by activating the second blade on his saber, spinning the now dual-ended lightsaber about its hilt, parrying each of Steve’s blows in turn.  But Steve is not one to be caught unaware.

      It’s been known for some time that Inquisitors wield dual-bladed lightsabers, ones that can pivot those blades around the hilt freely of the handle.  This gives them the air of a deadly crimson-hued pinwheel, an innocent child’s toy morphed into a spinning nightmare of danger.

     Over-prepared as he always is, Steve is ready for this change in fighting style.  It takes him only a split-second to reach behind him, fingers finding his lightsaber pouch at his back, to pull his second lightsaber free.

     With a snap-hiss, Steve’s second silver blade joins his first and they are once again evenly matched.  Arcs of silver and red swirl about both of them interspersed with sparks and flashes where plasma meets plasma.  Wall panels detonate in showers of white-hot electric rain as they’re cleanly bisected with red and silver fury.

     The Force vibrates around them, suffused with the manifestations of their own disparate wills; the will to live and the will to die.  Steve pushes onward, taking back more and more ground with each thrust, parry, and strike.

     In their flurry of blades, Steve continues to sense Clint and K3 on approach, drawing closer through the ship’s passageways.  Reaching deep once against, Steve musters everything he has and pulls a move that would have made Master Windu proud.  Quickly switching both of his lighsabers into a reverse grip, Steve spins, forcing the Inquisitor to lower his own dual saber to block the lowered blow, and leaving the handle exposed.  Continuing through the move, Steve’s second saber meets not with a red blade, but with matte black metal.  The Inquisitor’s ‘saber sputters and dies, killed by the clean slash now marring the casing for its power cell.

     Finishing the move, Steve now stands in front of the Inquisitor, eye-to-eye, two silver blades crossed and mere inches from his neck.

     With the fight effectively over, the Inquisitor’s eyes take on a serene appearance, the sign of a man resigned to his fate.  “Please, Steve.  It’s the only way.”

     It’s a dirty trick, using his name now, but Steve had a feeling it was coming.  That, and his plan to end this is already in place.

     A minute before, upon sensing Clint’s approach, Steve began shielding him from the Inquisitor’s awareness while also drawing power from the Force to turn the fight in his own favor.  The next step was to push a suggestion to Clint, one that would be clear but as simple as possible. _Stun him._  This now leaves Clint kneeling at the far end of the ship’s main passageway with a clear sight-line to the Inquisitor’s back.

     Steve’s expression softens, hoping to push his own sense of reassurance to his once best friend standing before him.  “No, Buck.  It’s not the only way.”

     Then Steve pushes one word to Clint: _Now_!

     Clint lets loose a full-power stun blast from his bowcaster that needles down the passageway with twice the speed of a normal blaster bolt.  The blue lance of energy impacts and fizzles across the Inquisitor’s back, leaving him to collapse, unconscious, into Steve’s arms.

     Steve takes the opportunity to heft his friend over one shoulder in a dead man’s carry as Clint jogs up to join him

     “So was that your plan all along?”  Clint asks while shouldering his rifle.

     “No.”  Steve answers through a tired half smile.  “I kinda had to wing it.”

     “Hmm.  Not bad.  You should wing it more often.”

     “Well I don’t plan on doing _this_ again.”

     Their little conversation is brought to a halt when a clattering of footsteps come from down the corridor, followed by a group of five stormtroopers.  “ _Rebels_ ! _Blast them_!”

     “That’s our cue!”  Clint calls before aiming two well-placed shots at the troopers.

     [ Now = good time to leave ]  K3 warbles while ensuring Clint remains between him and the incoming fire:  a human shield.

     Steve ignites one of his lightsabers with his free right hand and begins deflecting shots with it while the trio, plus one, head back down the passageway toward their ship.

     “For once, I agree with the droid.”  Clint calls after a particularly narrow miss.  “Besides, we _kinda-sorta_ rigged this thing to blow when the power comes back on.”

     “Really?!”  Steve asks, incredulously.

     [ Power restoration = 3 minutes away ]

     Without another word, the three heroes quickly make the trek back to their waiting ship, picking off stromtroopers as they can along the way.  Steve mostly just deflects incoming fire while Clint sharpshoots the majority of them whenever he can knock a shot off.

    _A few more meters and we’re home free_ .  Steve thinks to himself. _Then for the really hard part_.

 

* * * * *

 

     “Sir, the Captains’ ship is leaving the Imperial cruiser, but the cruiser’s power is coming back online!”

     Tony whirrs from his resumed position in front of the _Folly_ ’s bridge windows to address his crew.  “Get ready to give them cover fire.  Don’t want them getting shot in the back.”

     “The cruiser’s power levels are rising.  Their reactor’s going to blow.!”  Announces a second sensor operator.

     “Well, well, well.  Captain prissy-pants really _can_ clean house when he’s motivated.”  Tony knows he’ll be able to add this to his ever-growing repertoire of things with which he can tease Steve, most of all his newly pulled off rescue of his childhood friend.  Tony has several high-credit bets riding on whether or not Steve and his ‘friend’ will end up together (like, _together_ together) but what Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

     Turning back to the windows, Tony watches the blue and yellow U-wing streak away from the Imperial cruiser just before the engines blossom into small fiery suns, followed by the main hull shortly after.  What _was_ an Imperial cruiser is now just a slowly expanding ball of yellow flames, black smoke and charred debris.

     “The Captains’ ship is moving in toward the disabled Imperial shuttle now.”  Comes the report from the crew.

     “Good.”  Tony crosses his arms over his chest, satisfied with the outcome of the battle.  “Get the fighters called back and get ready to jump out.  We’re done here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, suggestions, ideas, problems, kudos? I'm open to everything. :)


	7. Chapter 7

   Steve slumps down the wall of the ship, sighing heavily while pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.  They’ve made it, they’re clear, and they’re headed away from danger.

    Looking to his right, he takes note of the Inquisitor’s, of  _ Bucky’s _ , unconscious form where he’s been propped up against the aft bulkhead, hands placed in cuffs.  He can’t help but notice how this man looks almost exactly the same, but nearly nothing like the kid he knew growing up in the Jedi Temple. It’s a strange contradiction, but one that still holds true.  Bucky’s jaw is more chiseled, matured, while it still holds the same features from his childhood.  His youthful mop of unruly brown hair has been replaced by a longer style, straight and dark and cut off just below the bottom of his ears.  Despite the differences, he’s still Bucky.

    Steve is brought out of his own thoughts when Natasha plops down into one of the jump seats facing him.  Considering the excitement of the mission, she doesn’t look the slightest bit worse for wear.  Of course, Steve thinks, it’ll take a lot more than single-handedly dispatching a shuttle full of stormtroopers to make Natasha break a sweat.  Her armor is still completely clean; her hair straight with every strand in its rightful place.  Just another day at the office.

    “Credit for your thoughts, Rogers?”  Natasha asks with a wistful expression.

    “I dunno Nat, there’s a lot going on up here,” he replies while smirking and pointing to his own head.  “Might cost you more than a credit.”

    Worn out from the infiltration and battle, Steve doesn’t have the energy to keep his mouth-brain connection in check so his inner little shit is getting a chance to breathe.  But that’s just fine for Nat.  She doesn’t want to talk to Steve the Jedi, or Steve the Rebel Captain.  She just wants to talk to  _ Steve. _

    “One cred-fifty.”  She answers with a smile.

    “Your overwhelming generosity amazes me, Nat.”  Steve replies.  “I was expecting no more than a cred-twenty-five.”

    “I’m giving like that.”

   Steve lets his expression fall while suddenly finding the tip of his right boot to be of infinite interest.  Natasha, though, is not one to give up on her friends.

    “How are you holding up?”  She asks when she sees his gaze shift over toward their ‘prisoner.’

    “Honestly?”

    “That would be preferred.  But you can try lying to me if it will make you feel better.”  Steve’s half-hearted smirk at her statement is a clear sign that he’s trying, but still not doing so hot.

    “I don’t know, Nat.  I thought getting him back from the Empire would be the answer but it’s just another question.”

    “And what question would that be?”

    “You weren’t there.  You didn’t see how empty he looked.”  Steve says while letting his head fall back against the bulkhead behind him.  “He asked me to kill him.  He fought me so that I’d have to kill him.”

    Natasha doesn’t know how to respond to that revelation; so she decides to just let Steve get this off his chest.

    “He thought the only way out was for him to die.  But then he said that he wanted  _ me _ to kill him.  That he could die in peace knowing  _ I _ was the one who saved him from the Empire.”

    “But you did save him from the Empire, Steve.  Him laying over there proves that.” She answers matter-of-factly.

    “You don’t understand, Nat.  He thought that dying was the only way to be saved from them.  And he wanted _ me _ to do it.”  Steve’s voice is starting to become hoarse as he’s trying to quell his emotions, dropping to the point of sounding strained.  “His last words were ‘Please, Steve.’  I just couldn’t.”

Natasha decides that now is as good a time as any to take the direct approach.  Having known Steve for several years, she’s picked up on the fact that sometimes, even a Jedi needs a good look in the mirror and a kick in the pants.  “Put yourself in his shoes, Rogers.  Don’t think for a minute that any of your friends, me, Clint, Tony, _ anyone _ , would let you sacrifice yourself if we knew that there was another way.”

“It’s not the same, Nat.”

“It’s _ exactly _ the same, Steve.  He thought dying was the only way out and the only person he trusted enough to carry that out was you.  Now I didn’t know that’s what he had in mind when he handed me those things to give to you.  But, if I _ had  _ known, I’d have given him the same talk I’m giving you now.”

Steve lets his shoulders sag in submission.  Nat is right; she’s _ always _ right.

“In fact, I may give him the same talk anyway once we get where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”  Steve asks, realizing that he’s neglected to ask before now.

“Safe house.”  Clint calls from the cockpit.

“It’s safe but a bit small so we’ll have to double up.  I figure you’ll want to keep an eye on your friend?”  Natasha asks with a playful gleam in her eye.

Steve looks over to where Bucky is still passed-out against the aft bulkhead, unable to form any truly coherent thoughts before he answers.  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

 

* * * * *

 

    A couple hours later, the heroes find themselves descending towards the surface of the Canyon World of the Mid Rim:  Cejansij.  Steve joins Natasha and Clint in the cockpit, looking between their two seats as they dip into one of the planet’s many canyon cities.

Great silver spires of metal and transparisteel, built into the cliffs themselves, line the sides of the canyons, creating a stark contrast between the natural and the artificial.  As they approach the safe house’s landing bay, they fly low over the Canyon Collonade, the planet’s greatest construction effort ever undertaken.  Massive columns of metal and glass form a circle in the very middle of the planet’s largest skybridge.  Atop each column there burns a single flame, a symbol of the desire for peace in every region of the galaxy.

As Clint nimbly lands their ship, Steve notices that the landing bay is in serious need of a good cleaning.  Pieces of ship engines and droid parts sit in several piles, pushed out of the way against the walls.  There’s a general level of grime in the bay that marks its use for ships, but it still doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have cleaned the place.

Turning back toward Bucky’s unconscious body, Steve feels lost again.  This man is his best friend yet he may as well be an entirely different person.  Picking him up once they’re landed, Steve carries him into the safehouse and through the automatic door to the room Natasha indicated would be theirs.

He sets Bucky down on the oversized double bed before taking in the rest of the room.  It’s clean and neat, and seems to be a very standard dwelling for Cejansij.  The carpet is gray with an inlaid filigree pattern in brown.  The furniture is smoother and modern but very functional.  A large reclining chair is set in the corner along with a desk that has a vid screen and a holocomm terminal.  Two book shelves, mostly empty, take up the wall opposite the window, perhaps waiting for the right resident to fill them up with reading material.

Walking back to the bed, Steve reaches down and releases the cuffs holding the Inquisitor’s, _ Bucky’s _ , wrists.

“You sure that’s such a good idea?”  Natasha asks from where she’s propped herself in the doorway.  She’s already managed to remove her ISB-issued armor plates and has slipped into a worn cotton jacket.

“I can handle him, Nat.”  Steve says, though Natasha thinks it’s more to reassure himself than her.  She still keeps an eye on him, watching as he looks toward the prone figure on the bed, his eyes filled with both a sense of longing and worry.

“This isn’t really my field of expertise here, but just remember not to put any expectations on him when he wakes up.  He’s not the kid you used to know anymore.”

“I know that.” He answers, still looking at his friend.  “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to reach him.”

“That’s easy, Rogers.  Just be yourself.”

 

* * * * *

 

Bucky stirs from his sleep slowly, like rising to the surface of a body of water inch by inch so that the world become brighter only a small bit at a time.  Blinking wearily, he can feel the ringing in his ears, the leftovers from being hit with a stun blast.

Finally, able to open his eyes fully, he looks around the sparsely appointed, but neat, room.  The first thing he notices is Steve, sitting in a chair next to the bed with his head in his hands.  Next to him is a red and gold astromech, presumably his.

Bucky takes a moment and closes his eyes, running over the words he’s going to say.  “You should have killed me, Steve.”  _  Okay, probably _ not _ the best line to open with _ .

“Buck.”  Steve’s head shoots up, eyes red with emotion and lack of sleep.  “You know I couldn’t do that.”

Of course he couldn’t.  Bucky remembers young Steve, that fiery 8-year old who’s only goal was to protect other people and save them from the bullies of the galaxy.  Nearly twenty years later and that 8-year old still lives in Steve now.

“They’ll come for me.  They’ll come for _ you _ .”

“I don’t care, Buck.  Let them come.”  Steve says, sitting up straight.  “I lost you one.  I’m not losing you again.”

Bucky starts to wonder what their lives could have been like if they’d escaped together.  But dwelling on what-ifs is pointless.  It’s better to say in the present.  “What are you going to do with me now?”

Those words cut Steve almost to the core.  He doesn’t want to do anything to Bucky.  He only wants to give him a chance at a better life, one free from the Empire.  “I dunno.  But I would like to get to know you again.”

“I’m not the same kid you knew.  You wouldn’t like me now.”

“You think _ I’m _ the same as back then?  I’ve changed too, a _ lot _ .  So don’t think that I don’t know that we’re aren’t who we were as kids.  I want to know the Bucky that’s in front of me, not the one from almost twenty years ago.”

Bucky actually lets himself smile a bit at Steve’s fiery response.  “You haven’t changed at all.  You’re exactly the same.  Still a punk.”

“And you’re still a jerk.”  Steve smiles, the words lacking any kind of poison that they otherwise might have held.  Steve’s smile fades slightly and his eyes start to brim with new tears.  “For so long I thought you were dead.  I kept telling myself that I’d let you die, and I missed you every day.”

Bucky could never stand to see Steve cry, not when they were Jedi younglings and definitely not now that he’s a grown man.  Sitting up on the bed, Bucky reaches his right hand over and grasps Steve’s, wrapping his fingers around the other man’s and squeezing tightly.  “I’ve known this whole time that you were alive.  It’s what kept me going when I wanted to give up.”

“What? How?!”  Steve asks, slightly shocked.

“Jedi who are close often form a Force Bond with one another.  Masters and Padawans form Training Bonds that help the apprentice learn from their mentor more easily.  But, anyone sufficiently close either in kinship or friendship can form a bond too.”

“What does that mean?”  Steve seems confused, unable to draw the obvious conclusion.

“It means you and I share a Force Bond, one we formed as kids.  _  That’s _ how I knew you were alive.”

Steve seems to consider this for a second before answering.  “But if you could sense me, why couldn’t I sense you?”

“You said it yourself, Steve.  You convinced yourself I was dead, so that’s how the Bond reacted on your end.  Sometimes when you tell yourself something often enough, you start to believe it.”

“Then how did you know that Natasha could get in contact with me?  She’s trained against Force sensitives.  _  I _ can’t even read her unless she wants to be read.”

“That took a while.”  Bucky muses while looking off into the middle distance.  “Any time she returned from a planetside drop-off of prisoners, her Force signature was always… off.  I couldn’t place it at first but then I realized that the difference in her signature was familiar.  I knew she was coming into contact with someone who was both familiar and who had a strong enough Force presence to rub off on others.  Eventually, I figured out that it was you.”

“How was her signature different?  I didn’t think you could pull a Force signature second hand.”

Bucky smiles slightly while looking down at the floor.  “Every time she came back, it felt like she had been home.  Not to her own home, but to _ my _ home.  Or rather, the closest I’ve ever had to a real home.”

Steve stands suddenly, his hand at his side and clenched into fists.  “Buck…”  Steve starts, hoarsely.

Standing to face his friend, Bucky sternly looks him in the eye before speaking.  “It was still a stupid idea for you to get me out, but I’m kind of glad you did.”  Bucky’s mouth erupts into the same self-satisfied smirk he had as a kid.  “I missed you, you punk.”

Steve chooses that moment to throw his arms around his oldest friend.  “I missed you too, you jerk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, concerns. Feel free to yell at me and throw kudos and/or bricks. I'm tough; I can take it all. :)
> 
> Seriously though, let me know if this should continue or not. This plot bunny's life depends on your positive or negative feedback. :D


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